I wanted to find a basic ingredient, a common flavor, a kind of base
plate from where I could start. With the film’s premise being
set around the work of coders, I started experimenting with binary
code. And so the figures one and zero become this basic ingredient.
The way we relate to the development of software is very intriguing.
The creation of something like Photoshop or Apple’s OS is made
up of these incredible batches of “man” years.
Imagine — you can never achieve this kind of evolution, of work,
of quantity in your lifetime. And, as a coder or as a particle in
this binary soup, your chances of survival will perhaps be much more
interesting in the fellowship of others.
So this starting point gives you an incredibly powerful idea of the
value of each unit, or even of the value of our labor as individuals.
At the same time it is a real pleasure to see a good coder at work:
Code becomes poetry; repetition becomes obsolete; each line is an
exercise in efficiency. Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
So, you can see the imagination and ideas that govern coding have
a very tangible beauty to them. And, with my passion for marine life,
I began to develop a narrative that dives into this life of code,
exposing the underlying currents and the kind of set of mind that
drives it.
Did you explore other ideas that didn’t make the cut?
Yes, what I liked about the work on this one, was that it developed
in a very organic process. Each project develops in a different way.
And what was nice to see here, was the way this one evolved. Sometimes
I would start with a basic idea and find it would run into a dead
end. So, you abandon it and pull up the thread at some other point.
Then you have a project where one thing develops out of the other.
And this is exactly what happened here with this project.
So, you get an idea of how the artwork also had a great influence
on the way the story evolved out of it.
Can you tell us about your titles for Watershed? What governed
your choice of typeface and imagery?
The film tells the story of a man’s amorous adventures in New
York — up until the moment when he has to take responsibility
for his actions.
There were two things that struck me about the story. One being the
moment when you realize your life has changed, and the other being
a moment just before that happens.
I wanted to create a story that expresses this sense of ambiguity,
the vagueness, a moment before your life comes into focus and you
become fully aware of your intentions.
The title makes use of very basic shapes, fluttering in the motion
of a city: passing cars, blinking lights, a person strolling —
a passing moment.
In contrast to that, the typographic treatment of the titles appears
as set cards, slot in, but touching one another in a slow but distinct
succession. These build on the idea that the protagonist’s actions
provoke — in some form or other — reactions, and eventually
bring his life to a standstill. So the set cards push one another
off screen.
What I also very much like about this approach is that it doesn’t
reveal the actual story. Instead of giving it away, it sets you in
a mood, in anticipation, and gives you an idea of the feeling. This
is what I was hoping to achieve with my work on the titles, to set
the viewer in a frame of mind before the actual story kicks in. I
wanted to find something that is simple and very accessible.
Can you talk about the dialogues that are going on within your
film Open? Who created the soundtrack and did you use it while creating
the film?
‘Open’ follows a line of associations. The film is largely
made up out of still images. And so each situation is presented with
a word describing the action, or the moment in the scene. And, with
each of the three scenarios — Home, Office, Fusion — the
words begin to make up a sentence and finally express something larger
than the sum of its parts. |
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